Punk Rock Princess
by Modern Physics
Summary: “If by ‘english men’ you mean sleazy pseudo-rock stars who try to sleep with their fans, then no, I don’t think I do. Sorry.” AU; Claire meets Charlie at a gig in Australia before Oceanic 815 crashes.


_another loosely based song-fic centered around 'punk rock princess' by something corporate. rated T for some swearing.  
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* * *

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"Come on, baby brother. It'll calm you down. See? I'm fine and I'm the fucking lead singer... you've got nothing to be afraid of."

Like he'd ever forget it. Liam probably came out of the womb screaming "I'm the lead singer" or something of the sort.

"No, seriously, I don't want it. I don't need it. Honestly. And neither do you, man!"

His older brother rolled his eyes casually and pushed his way through the crowded dressing room full of tall, blonde nobodies trying to do something worth writing home about. It made him sick... it really did.

"You know, one of these days you're gonna regret it. You're gonna be wound up so tight, baby brother... so tight you're just gonna snap."

Charlie sighed and sat down on the edge of an unoccupied chair. Perhaps, he thought to himself, it'll happen sooner than later. He really did love the band... the music more-so than the band itself but he knew they had to go hand in hand. It was, however, getting harder and harder to turn a blind eye to the stuff that went on behind the scenes, what with Liam's recently acquired drug addiction and the bickering label executives. Maybe just a little, he thought... just a little to take off the edge...

"No," he said rather sternly, snapping out of his daze and making his way to the dressing room door, "I'm going to keep my head and make sure we do our job tonight."

Liam snorted and tilted his head back in laughter. "Our job? We're bloody rock stars, Charles. We don't have to work for anybody... we're our own bosses, yeah? Money making machines right here," he said, pointing one finger at himself and the other at his younger brother. The two girls on his arms laughed quietly, sounding empty and dull.

Charlie knew it was of no use arguing with him, especially when he was in this state. Liam was always on top of the world before a show and it was Charlie's job to keep him there because if he didn't, Liam's temper would always get the best of him and things would get terrible for all of them. Somehow this wasn't what he envisioned when they got the record deal...

* * *

"Do you even like these guys?"

Claire was staring off absent mindedly onto the stage as the artificial smoke wafted down into the crowd. Some indie rock band's CD was blasting through the speakers while two men set up microphones on the drums.

"Driveshaft? I've never heard of them before, actually... they're just the opening act."

Jackie took Claire's hand and began to make her way towards the front of the stadium, pushing through scores of teenagers and twenty-somethings packed tightly together. If there was one way to see a live gig, it was from the front row... it didn't matter if you heard of the band or not. Claire would know.. she went to a lot of shows. She was... well, different from the other girls.

"Ow, watch it, would you? My arm's sore." She tugged at the blue sling that seemed to glow underneath the green and yellow stage lights. No one cared about her arm, no one cared about the accident and no one cared about her mother. No one cared about anything. Coincidentally, rock concerts were one of the few places she felt she fit in.

She sighed as her friend pushed up against the plastic barricades. They were fairly close to the stage now... Claire could touch it with her good arm if she wanted to, but she didn't.

"Remind me again why we're seeing The Broken Bones?" For once Jackie looked a little irritated as a grungy looking teen brushed up against her, trying to get the attention of a friend.

"Because," Claire said loudly as the lights dimmed and the crowd began to cheer, "they make me feel something. I need to feel something right now."

* * *

"Dammit Liam, get out of that stuff!"

Charlie swatted at the bag clutched in his brother's hand but it was of no use.

"We're on in thirty seconds and you're not even ready. Seriously, un-fucking-professional... all of you. Put that shit away man, c'mon."

The other band members put down their drinks and straightened up, looking no worse for wear than Charlie himself. It was funny how that always happened.

Liam swayed as he was pulled him up off of the chair rather suddenly "We're going to be brilliant tonight baby brother... you just wait. And when we're finished? Well, we get to come back and enjoy the company of these lovely ladies." Liam gestured to the five or six young women who were standing by the stage entrance, flashing phony parking-meter smiles. Sure, put a quarter in, he thought, they'll smile. They'll do anything you want. Glorified hookers. When was this ever about the music?

Swaggering onto stage like the rock star he believed he was, Liam grabbed the mic and began yelling obscenities. The crowd cheered. Charlie looked down at the stage floor, sprinkled with glitter and confetti. He was embarrassed not only of himself, but his brother, his band and his reputation. Not even the deafening roar of the crowd could drown out his bitter thoughts.

"Hellloooooo Sydney," Liam hollered into the mic as their drummer began to counting in on his sticks, "We're Driveshaft, all the way from the U.K. Are you ready to rock the fuck out?" More cheering. Charlie sighed as he turned up his bass, looking out into the sea of people before them.

Something caught his eye. Somewhere near the front... something blue and shiny. A little distracting, but it was good. Anything to distract him from the fact that he was sharing a stage with his joke of a band. Perhaps I'm too jaded, he thought to himself as his eyes scanned the crowd, always going back to the intriguing blue blob near the front of the stage as the chorus of 'You All Everybody' rolled around.

* * *

"These guys are pretty good," Jackie yelled into Claire's ear. She nodded, swaying along to the beat. They weren't anything incredible but they had some catchy songs and she could appreciate that. She wasn't really sure (and maybe it was foolish to assume) but she thought the bass player was looking at her. Not just scanning the crowd and simply looking at her for a fraction of a moment, but staring intently at her. What's his problem? was her immediate reaction, getting all defensive over something trivial, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion and bitterness. Sometimes she felt okay with everything, like she could handle anything that was thrown her way. But tonight? Tonight she could barely handle herself. That didn't stop her from wanting to take on the world, though.

"I think that guy has a thing for you, hun," Jackie screamed into her ear, nodding up at the stage to the bass player. "Wouldn't be the first time, yeah?"

That was it. Claire had always been moody but recent events has just sent her over the edge completely. Nothing was really logical... someone could just look at her the wrong way and she'd start pitching a fit. Jackie happened to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Implying she was a groupie? She could have laughed it off if it was any other night. She was already feeling like a failure of a daughter and she didn't need any more weight upon her shoulders.

"I'm going out to get some air," Claire yelled as the band played their final song. There would be at least a fifteen minute intermission before The Broken Bones started and she decided to take advantage of this time wisely. Pushing her way through scores of angsty teenage rebels, she finally found her way outside. She could see the two tour buses from where she was standing on the cracked concrete, the faint glow from the foyer inside illuminating the assortment of cuts and scrapes on her arms and legs.

All at once she felt it all. When there was no music left, the only thing that remained was pain. Not physical pain of course, but mental pain. What was going to happen to her mother? Shouldn't she be there by her side at this very moment? Where was she going to stay tonight? How could she live with herself? Nothing could drown these feelings out anymore, they were simply just too loud. She wouldn't cry... she never cried. She'd kick at the pavement, tear up some tufts of grass with her converse.. but no, she would never cry. She couldn't cry.

The doors behind her opened slowly, a few college-aged boys stepping out for a cigarette. She moved a few feet away out of the light, avoiding the second hand smoke that wafted out of their fingertips. A few more teens drifted out of the revolving doors, some standing around to talk, others smoking whatever they had. She knew she should go back in but she didn't want to... not tonight.

* * *

"Excellent show boys, excellent job. We were amazing."

Liam stumbled into the dressing room, the drummer helping him back up on his feet. That dumb smile still plastered all over his face... it was enough to make Charlie want to kill him.

"Excellent? You fucked up the last three songs. We were terrible. I guess everything sounds better when you're coked up though, yeah?"

Liam sat down in the chair facing the illuminated dressing room vanity, taking a small baggie out of his back pocket and bringing it up to the table. Charlie was fuming.

"It does, baby brother... you should really try it out sometime."

"That's it, I'm outta here. Seriously guys, I'm done."

He didn't wait around for anyone to say something, not that he thought they would. No one cared, really. Charlie was expendable... he was the bass player. Sure he wrote the songs but they could hire people to write stuff for them. Hell, people would probably do it for free. Drive Shaft, the best fucking rock band ever, he thought to himself as he pushed his way out the back door and into the night.

It was a little less warm and bright out in the alleyway behind the dressing room. He made his way down the narrow path, eventually coming out at the opening near the stadium entrance. A group of young men were huddled together near the doors, passing around a cigarette and talking about how much they loved The Broken Bones. Bollocks, he thought to himself. It didn't matter who they opened for or how good they got, Drive Shaft was never going anywhere. No one cared. What was memorable about them? Absolutely nothing. They were a one hit, sing-along wonder and he knew it. The rest of them, however, didn't. He didn't want to pretend anymore.

He was about to sit down on the concrete steps when he noticed a girl kicking furiously at the clumps of weeds that popped up through the cracks. It was the same girl, he realized, with the blue sling on her arm. The same one he saw from the stage. What was she doing out here all alone?

"'Scuse me, ma'am... are these bits grass terribly upsetting you? I can tell 'em off if you'd like."

She turned around quite suddenly as if she was surprised by someone wanting to speak to her. She had long black hair and kohl-lined blue eyes. Oh, and a few stitches in her forehead. And her arm in a sling, obviously.

"I'm fine, thanks."

He wanted to nod and just walk as far away as he could from this stadium, from his band, from... well, everything. But he didn't.

"I guess you already taught them a lesson then, what with those pretty little stitches and broken arm. I didn't know those weeds could put up such a fight."

She sighed and stopped kicking, the white toe of her converse already grass stained.

"Oh, yeah. It was horrible. Absolutely wretched things, those weeds. I'm just trying to teach them a lesson now."

He noticed the thick Australian accent and a forced smile playing on her lips for just a second. He didn't know why, but he was instantly drawn to her.. it was inexplicable, really.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

He wasn't sure why he bothered to ask. He didn't know this girl, the girl with the broken arm and stitches. For all he knew she could be looking to get into another fight and perhaps win this one. He didn't really care at the moment. What else did he possibly have to lose?

"Talk about what? This old thing?" she lifted up her arm gingerly, wincing a little. He nodded.

"Well," she said, walking over a little closer to him, "do you wanna talk about why you kept staring at me while you were on stage?"

Busted. She had noticed. It's not like he was checking her out or being inappropriate... he just needed a distraction. A bright, blue distraction. Saying that, however, would lead to deeper problems he didn't feel like delving into at the moment, let alone with a complete stranger.

"I think that's quite obvious, love," he said, trying to sound as charming as possible. Maybe she'd buy it if he acted convincing enough. She looked the type. He just wanted to throw her off... no one needed to know about the eventual demise of Drive Shaft. At least not yet, anyway.

"Is it? I don't think it is, 'love'", she shot back, mimicking his accent a little bit. He put a hand over his heart and feigned shock.

"Oh come on, you can't tell me you don't fancy english men."

She rolled her eyes and walked over a little bit closer... he could see her eyes quite clearly now and decided he liked this view a lot better than the one on stage.

"If by 'english men' you mean sleazy pseudo-rock stars who try to sleep with their fans, then no, I don't think I do. Sorry."

She leaned up against the metal railing that accompanied the stairs he was sitting on. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't mildly intrigued by him. She'd probably be a little more interested if she wasn't already feeling like a complete failure... and maybe if he wasn't trying so hard to cover up some dirt of his own.

"Harsh words, love... but honestly, how'd you get those stitches? Bar fight? Knife fight? I won't judge you, promise."

For the first time in days she laughed. She didn't want to laugh, she hadn't planned to laugh but she did anyway. It felt... weird. It felt like she shouldn't be.

"I'd rather not talk about it." She looked down at the ground and contemplated kicking up some more grass to relieve the tension that was building inside of her. He looked down at the scuffed shoes and sighed quietly.

"Well that makes two of us... you know, having stuff we'd rather not talk about."

He toyed with the ring on his finger, spinning it around over and over again. She noticed this and decided to sit down next to him. Not too close, but just a little closer than she had been leaning against the railing.

"Any significance?" She pointed to the ring. He looked up, a little startled.

"Oh, so now you wanna talk. Mmm. I see how it is. Yes, actually. Belonged to my granddad, bless his soul."

She nodded, still staring. She loved bulky jewelry and piercings and tattoos and all that stuff she should probably like, taking into consideration her couldn't-care-less attitude and harsh physical features. She used this as an excuse for staring, however weak it was.

"It's kind of a family heirloom I guess... it was passed down to my brother, who then passed it on to me in the hopes that some day I'll straighten out and get a family of my own to pass it on to." He expected her to laugh, or to at least make another snide remark. Instead she just nodded her head knowingly. Who was this girl?

"You don't think that's a little strange? A 'pseudo-rock star' turning into a doting father?"

She shrugged and tucked a dark strand of hair behind her ear, looking up to meet his eyes.

"I hope not," she said quietly as she raised a hand to her stomach, "because I myself need to turn into a doting mother."


End file.
